


An Iceberg Named Stiles

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Self-esteem issues to the max
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-12
Updated: 2012-08-12
Packaged: 2017-11-12 00:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being Scott's emissary at pack meetings was usually just annoying for Stiles. That was before he got outed for his crush on Derek. Then it was just a little bit horrifying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Iceberg Named Stiles

It was getting ridiculous, showing up to pack meetings every week like he was Scott's secretary or something.

Because really, that was what Stiles was doing. He listened and offered much-needed banter, occasionally commented that Derek's plans were terrible and suggested alternatives, and then went to school the next morning and relayed it all to Scott. 

Scott, of course, had unavoidable scheduling conflicts every night that rhymed with 'Ballison Bargent,' and Derek refused to reschedule. Thus, Stiles. 

It was pretty plain that everyone involved would have preferred Stiles not show up, and perhaps Scott either attend the meetings himself or send a less chatty emissary, but Stiles was more than accustomed to being unwanted and trucking on anyway.

Story of his _life_ , honestly. 

Anyway, what inevitably resulted was Derek outlining plans and policies and occasionally thoughts that _didn't_ make strategic geniuses all around the world curl up in horror, while Erica and Isaac pretty much unanimously agreed, Boyd occasionally looked judgmental, and Stiles piped up relatively often to express the many levels on which the plans were doomed to fail. 

Like—

"I didn't say the plan was _doomed to fail_ ," Stiles said loudly, ignoring the tittering that could be coming from either Isaac or Boyd, he wasn't sure. "But if you readjust it – I'm talking major readjustments, like, the kind of structural support that might have saved the Titanic – then a lot fewer people are gonna almost die."

"Stiles," Derek gritted out. This was, to be fair, the fourth interruption of the night, and Stiles was sure there were a lot of fun activities yet to be had at the meeting. Such as Derek glaring, Boyd chuckling, and Erica examining her nails. And possibly a sing-a-long dance number at the end to wrap it up for the night, but Stiles thought of that one as unlikely. "Sit."

Stiles threw out his hands. "Dude, I'm trying to help!" he exclaimed. "Don't take it all personally just 'cause I pointed out that it might not be the best idea to have wolf practice two blocks outside the police station. And why do you even need wolf practice, anyway? I mean, you're all already wolves. You're there."

" _Stiles_ \--"

"Stiles, I really think you should sit," Erica advised helpfully from where she'd been – surprise, surprise – examining her nails in the back corner. "He's making the face." 

This did not do much to subdue Stiles. Instead he objected, "Can we maybe not base our decisions on Derek's face?" 

"Why not?" Issac said quietly. "You do." 

See, _quietly_ wasn't really an operative word there at all, because the room's occupants were eighty percent werewolves – with supersensitive hearing to match – and twenty percent Stiles, who… was so not going to miss a thing like that. 

"What."

There were a lot of eyes on Isaac now. Possibly all of the eyes in the room, except Stiles wasn't really able to verify that because _kind of busy staring at Isaac now_. 

Isaac furrowed his brow, then spoke again. "I mean, your crush on him," he said. "Isn't that the point of coming here to screw with him every week when we all know Scott's not going to listen to any of this anyway?"

Stiles' mouth was suddenly very dry. "Uh, I don't – I mean, I'm not – I—"

He chanced a glance over at Derek, who looked… about as withdrawn as he usually looked, with that perpetually-constipated face of his but eyes that were much more attentive than usual. Possibly much more pissed, too. 

"You—you know, I—I really think we're missing something by not listening to Derek's plan here," Stiles stammered. "I mean, I know I compared it to the Titanic and all, but let's be honest, that movie made a lot of money and the box office, and again at the rerelease, so maybe we shouldn't be so hasty to just… write off his idea?" He licked his lips, wishing he just had some water or something. "Of sinking a—oh god, never mind."

Erica… either laughed or coughed like a psychopath, Stiles couldn't tell. "Oh my god, he _does_ have a crush on Derek," she realized. 

The whole world hated him. That was the only explanation. "Could we maybe not be talking about this?" Stiles entreated, and he really didn't think it was that unreasonable a request. "I mean, I'm sure Derek would rather keep on going with his… uh, Titanic plan." His eyes turned pleading, but he didn't turn them right on Derek. "Right?"

"Yes," Derek grunted, his expression too constipated and impassive to read. As usual. Not that it mattered; Stiles knew there was only one way he could have responded to that announcement. "The police station isn't—"

"Hello," Erica said. "You aren't even going to address it?"

Derek didn't blink. "No."

"Can we just let it go?" Stiles begged, because this situation was hellish but if there was one part of it that was a gift it was the fact that Derek apparently didn't feel the need to vocalize a rejection out loud. "There is no suspense here. This is a suspense-free zone. There isn't gonna be a big kiss or whatever, so you guys can all just… go see a romantic comedy if you like that sort of thing. Or something more actiony – is anyone else thinking about seeing The Bourne Legacy this week? I hear it's supposed to be really good, and Jeremy Renner, I mean, he's—"

"Might be a big kiss thing," Boyd commented.

"Et tu, Boyd?" Stiles flailed, really beginning to truck right on past 'disturbed' and onward toward 'despairing.' 

Boyd shrugged his shoulders. "There might," he repeated. "If you asked." His eyes were fixed on Derek now, and Stiles was wondering how many Scooby snacks he'd need to bring to the next meeting to redeem himself for the horrible sea of soap-opera drama he'd apparently brought with him by showing up tonight. 

"I am not going to _ask_ , okay," Stiles said. "I've actually been rejected forty-eight times in my life, of which forty-six of those times were courtesy of a Miss Lydia Martin, and the other two were drunk adventures I'd really rather not discuss and I _beg_ you all not to ask Scott, but my point remains that asking is not gonna happen, and really one would think that a bunch of teenage outcasts like yourselves could understand my relative disinterest in basically _asking_ to get rejected right now, in front of all you guys, when I'm supposed to be finding shit out for Scott and then going home to watch TV with my dad. Okay?"

A long silence followed that one. Afterward, Stiles would wonder whether that silence had offered him enough time to make it all the way home and back, this time with a nice long strip of duct tape for his mouth. 

Finally-- "Stiles," Derek said quietly. 

"Can I _help_ you?" Stiles burst out, much more violently than he'd intended, with an arm flying out and everything. 

"Stiles," Derek said again. "Breathe." 

As usual, the leaps and bounds by which this situation exceeded Stiles' capacity to deal meant that he picked the most inane thing to possibly say and then said it. "It's Scott who's the asthmatic," he mumbled. "And not even any more, that got fixed when he got wolfed, but it didn't exactly get transferred to me, not least because that would imply me having anything to do with Scott's respiratory system, and yeah, no, so—"

Derek's voice was – softer than usual, not in the actual volume of it but in the fact that its usual harshness was just… muted, this once. It was unsettling. "Just stop talking."

"Do I have to?" Stiles – okay, he whined. 

Derek let out a breath. "I'm not," he said, "rejecting you."

There was a whistle from somewhere else in the room. Stiles barely heard it. "Huh?"

Yeah, smooth, Stilinski. _Huh_. That would go down in the record books of best responses to not being rejected, for sure. 

"You didn't actually ask," Derek pointed out. "I can't reject you that way." 

Yeah, Stiles was definitely not an asthmatic, because his breath didn't even catch, and hearing something like that, you'd really think it might have. "I don't… wanna ask," he said finally. 

"I could ask," Erica chimed in helpfully. "Derek, do you like Stiles?"

Derek rolled his eyes. "In a manner of speaking," he said, "yes."

Stiles didn't blink. "In… this… manner of speaking?" he asked, because it was important to be sure, you couldn't just walk away after something like this _unsure_ , that way led to disappointment, and the kind of disappointment that came after thinking something really good was going to happen, like if you were for some reason expecting a snow day even though you lived in California and you were really sure it was going to happen and didn't even touch your homework and then the next morning came around and it was seventy-six degrees, just like all week, not a snowflake in sight. 

Derek huffed slightly. Then his eyebrows raised, and one corner of his mouth quirked up. Looked kind of like a Derek _yes_. 

It was a good thing it had only been that one corner, because if _asking Derek if he liked him_ was the thing that resulted in Stiles seeing Derek smile for the first time, he would've been absolutely sure that the world was about to end. 

"Oh," he said. "Well. I. Good." 

"You good?" Derek said, sounding amused.

"Yeah." Stiles was flushed, and he needed to get home to his dad and call Scott _right now_ , except – no, actually, he didn't, because there was something more important to address first. "But okay, about this Titanic plan…"


End file.
